It has come to my attention that I made a major Mardi Gras faux pas. I neglected the opportunity to focus on the gras.
It’s a cryin shame. Tabby’s Place has never had cats with any of the following names: The Colonel, The Captain, The Commissioner or The Admiral. But there’s hope. The sanctuary’s classiness quotient spiked 7,000% with the arrival of Barley.
Warning: this will not be my most articulate blog post. Today I beseech you for your prayers for a cat. More precisely, the cat. The cat who puts the twist in my tail, the bend in my ends, the sprinkle on my cupcake. Webster.
Sometimes what’s simple is true. There’s no “new math” required here: loving human + stripey kitten = neverending specialness.
With apologies to Major Tom and regrets to Ziggy Stardust, I must announce: David Bowie is not the most significant comeback rocker of 2013. That would be Tabby’s Place’s own Natalie.
Much as I’d like to, I can’t take credit for the epic title above. You’ll know he’s an AwesomeAdopter as soon as I tell you: Juniper‘s own Pa was calling her JUNIPER THE MAGNIFICENT within approximately 8 seconds of adopting her.
Kittens seem to embrace the “live fast, die young” philosophy of the adolescent and the invincible. But that’s never, ever, ever meant to be literal. It is with shock and sorrow that I must report our Florence has left us.
There are cats named for flowers. There are cats named for motorcycles. And then there are cats named for obscure local weathermen whose names sound like Star Trek characters. Or medicated nasal sprays. Or medicated nasal sprays used by Star Trek characters.